м γ ε α я τ ң Poem by Sam Fung

м γ ε α я τ ң

Rating: 3.0


I think of field mice in the rye,
and of birds chirping in the sky.
I think of children playing in the rain,
and of the wounded in enormous pain.

While some act happy and proud,
others bellow long and loud.
I can hear the silent screams
of fish caught swimming in the stream.

There are men that jump into the deep
to get the treasure and then keep.
Their reactions when they find gold and money
are similar to bears when they find honey.

The sea is a place of eternal motion,
one of power but without any notions.
But below the deceiving surface lie
masses of fish that live by speeding by.

I dream of the great blue abyss,
where everything is amiss,
where the light is missed,
and all types of fish exist.

As nomads walk and wander,
mathematicians sit and ponder.
While mathematicians try and test,
the dead are laid to eternal rest.

I hear unintelligible mutterings,
along with small amounts of stuttering.
It all felt unbelievably wrong,
when the Sirens began to sing their song.

People live in sadness and pain,
feeling as though they have nothing to gain.
As thinkers lie deep in thought,
blacksmiths look at what they’ve wrought.

Music and laughter fill the halls
where children and friends are having a ball.
As the dying write their last wills,
many musicians play lively trills.

Most of us try and do good deeds,
but some are corrupted by sinful greed.
Kings and queens stand to be crowned
as the poor live lonely, sad, and down.

I hear weapons clashing in the dark,
drum rolls playing in the park,
soldiers filing into their ranks,
and the growling rumble of the tanks.

I dream of clouds, floating high,
of a giant castle in the sky,
of my friends, when they cry,
and of pets before they died.

What I would give to be able to fly,
to float with the birds high up in the sky.
To touch the clouds, up so high,
which I have always wanted to try.

We have moments that we will forever treasure,
ones that contain value beyond any measure.
Inner fires on this earth will always burn,
like how we will remember what we learn.

As trees and flowers slowly grow,
water in the mountains move and flow.
Are we living in a deceiving dream?
This place where sunlight continually streams?

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Elysabeth Faslund 03 January 2008

Magnificent! As always! Depth, scope, legend...the myth lives on....xxxElysabeth

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